Beneath Beautiful by Allison Rushby Page A

for the interruption.
    “Cameron's ready and waiting,” Freya said, after speaking to someone on the other end of the line for a moment or two. Marianne, most likely.
    “Right. I'd best be heading back out then,” Cassie said, surreptitiously wiping her hands on her jeans. “I'll, um, see you again soon, I expect. Thanks for the drink, Freya.” She glanced toward the untouched container.
    “Yes, let's catch up soon, Cassandra. We've so much to talk about.” Plum gave her one last long look as Cassie escaped as fast as humanly possible through the door.
     
     
    “A nd now the beautiful Cassie is with us, the madness truly starts,” Cameron said theatrically as Cassie entered the large room. His attention immediately made her feel as if a spotlight were upon her. The walls were painted white, as they were downstairs and large, thick glass windows showcased a view of the High Line outside. In various parts of the room, several assistants scrabbled about, furiously sorting and moving things.
    “I hear we're under some time pressure.” Cassie began to walk toward Cameron, but then her eye caught some of the items the assistants were placing on a steel table against a wall. “They're my things!” She walked swiftly over to the table. And they were. Her scarf. Her coat. Her book. She touched the items in turn. “But how did you . . .?” She glanced back over at Cameron.
    “I didn't. They're not yours.”
    “Yes they are.” She picked up her coat, knowing there was a small hole in the inside right pocket. Turning the coat inside out, she began to search for it, but on closer inspection it wasn't there. The book and her scarf were the same, as were the pair of jeans and the shirt. “I don't understand.” She looked up.
    “We sourced them.”
    Cassie frowned. “But why didn't you just ask me for mine?”
    “Well, at that point I didn't want you to know what I was thinking of. Also, often there are things that need to be done to them. The fabric needs fibers taken out of it, things need to be cut up,” Cameron explained.
    Cassie hmpf ed, feeling as if her privacy had been invaded. “Can't you just clone me and get on with things?” She eyed Cameron from across the room.
    Cameron laughed. “It might be a good idea. You were just mentioning the time pressure, after all . . . Still, I've been told I have exactly two weeks to tell everyone what it is that I want.”
    The truth was, Cassie was amazed Cameron's assistants had been able to source such items. The coat was at least three years’ old, and the book had originally been her grandfather's. To search for things that were so specific—she truly knew he meant business now. Cassie didn't break her gaze for a second.
    “And what is it you want?” She was surprised to find the bold words exiting her mouth. She didn't care who was in the room, or who heard. Right now, it was just her and Cameron. And the first few sketchy pieces of the sculpture that would be.
    “I know exactly what I want,” Cameron answered her, standing quite, quite still. “Exactly.”
    The door to the room opened. “Are we right to go?” someone asked, breaking the spell.
    Cassie turned her head to see a group of three people, one with a very large camera indeed, one with some folded items of linen, and one with a box of small metal instruments, and what looked like tiny plastic containers and miniature plastic bags.
    Cameron followed her eyes. “Don't worry. We're not going to pull any of your teeth. Not yet, anyway. Watch out for that around day nine.”
     
     
    “H ow do I look?” Cassie twirled around after changing into the simple, shapeless white tunic and skin-colored underwear she'd been handed. “New York Fashion Week, here I come.”
    “It's not the most glamorous piece of clothing, I know,” Cameron offered.
    “It's fine,” Cassie replied, shaking out her hair that had been loosened from its high ponytail. “You've probably noticed I'm not the most glamorous